


Quiet

by WahlBuilder



Category: The Technomancer (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Morning Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:31:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: A morning in the Prince's alcove finds Melvin musing on things.





	Quiet

The Palace rarely sleeps, just like the whole city. Even though the bed is hidden in an alcove, sounds of the morning are slipping through. But they are rather subdued: the Palace is a nest of quiet, above the busy walkways. Metal chimes are tinkling gently.

Heavy embroidered draperies separate the alcove from the rest of the balcony-floor. A lot of things in Noctis, in the Palace seem excessive at the first glance, especially to Melvin and his family. They are used to very different living conditions. Looking at those excessive things closely, however, one realizes that they are not _useless_ : the draperies are necessary to block out lights and sounds and drafts; the etching on walls serves to reinforce the plating and to twist sounds; chimes and incense put visitors at ease; the plants on the guest floor are a demonstration of prosperity. The guest hall is, after all, a place where Noctis does its business; the nooks and alcoves and side rooms are designed to give privacy to those striking deals that cost so much Serum that an average family in Abundance wouldn’t see such an amount in all their life. And the Prince overlooks it all from his balcony.

It took Melvin months to learn another thing: sometimes, things are simply meant to be beautiful. It is in the nature of humans to decorate what they use and to create something beautiful just because they want to. Because there must be something to life besides survival.

Melvin understands that. But to _feel_ its truth, to accept it is another thing entirely.

To feel that he, too, can have this.

“It’s so early, and you are already thinking,” Dandolo murmurs.

The alcove is warm, and the bed is huge enough to fit four or five people Melvin’s size, another sign of excess—but Dandolo tosses a lot in his sleep, takes up space. Sometimes he can’t sleep at all. He rarely goes out with caravans anymore: the demands of the city require his presence. Noctis is a complex living being, and Melvin can’t even pretend to understand all aspects of its workings—but it needs Dandolo, for all that formally there is the Council of Merchants and Dandolo holds a place equal with everyone else on it. Despite his mostly settled life now, the Prince’s mind puts him on the “caravan time”: short naps interspersed with activity.

“I’m sorry,” Melvin says quietly, pressing his chest to Dandolo’s back and throwing an arm over his waist.

Dandolo has once told him he’d be a perfect sleeping companion during caravan travels because he’s always running hot—but after a full night’s sleep their temperatures have evened out.

Dandolo’s braids smell of sweet incense and sand.

Melvin can’t believe his luck. And to think that their relationship could have started sooner if he hadn’t been so blind to Dandolo’s courtship…

“Stop thinking,” Dandolo grumbles. His voice is rough from sleep, but his body is soft with it. Heavy.

Melvin presses himself even closer. They fit so well together. He slides a knee between Dandolo’s legs, and their weight traps him.

There are many scars on Dandolo’s skin. They are different from Melvin’s: bites as opposed to Melvin’s shrapnel, acid burns to his electric. Knife cuts. The only scars they share are from nails. Most of Dandolo’s scars are turned into tattoos. Not the precise decorations on his face—no, these marks are intimate. A celebration of coming alive from a brush with death.

Noctians are a proud people.

“I know several ways to stop your thinking,” Dandolo says, “but only one of them I’d perform right now.”

Melvin smiles, his face heating up. “Which one?”

Dandolo presses his backside to Melvin’s groin.

“Oh.” Melvin bites his lip, then manages, “This one of your… distraction techniques, my Prince?”

He yelps when he’s suddenly twisted and pinned on his back, his wrists held above his head. The sheets are soft against his skin.

Dandolo’s eyes are gleaming in the light creeping through a crack in the draperies. The blanket slides down his back, revealing his body, so marked and beautiful, his braids falling over his shoulder.

“ _This_ is my distraction technique,” he purrs. He’s looking down at Melvin like Melvin is something worth looking at. The Prince leans down and licks Melvin’s tingling lips, and Melvin moans, unable and unwilling to hold back.

Melvin has his family. Ian and Connor, and Sam with her grumbling, Zach with his bleeding heart, Sean, finally warming up again. Andrew, soaking up this familial thing. Everyone else. His siblings, his nephews and nieces. And maybe he will never understand all aspects of Noctian life.

But this is home, too.


End file.
